The Difference between Red and Orange
by PlotbunnyChariot
Summary: When Zuko is alone remembering the pain his father and the Fire Nation inflicted, all he can see is the red of the agony that was caused. Who can teach him the difference between red and orange, the difference between his father and himself, the difference between death and life? A Zuko/Zutara oneshot. Violence/blood mentioned, I did my best on the rating. Please read and review!


_The Difference Between Red and Orange_

Zuko leaned all his weight into the punch, throwing it heavily into the punching bag and feeling the bag sway from the impact. He hit it with three quick shots on its return, then swung with a powerful kick to the side. Dropping to the ground, he spun on his back in a classic move and let the fire flow from his feet, the flames licking the bag's fireproof material. Soon he was on one hand, his right arm supporting his whole body, and he flung himself at the bag, slamming into its middle with his knee.

Backing off, he felt the sweat on his skin making his limbs more slippery, and his bangs were damp in front of his eyes. The bag continued to sway until his hand stopped its momentum, and he breathed heavily, trying to focus and clear his vision and his mind. His eyes were consumed by the bag's scarlet surface, so it was no wonder he was seeing red.

Still controlling his breathing, he backed away, tempted to hit the bag again but trying to refrain himself from doing so. In the end, would it really help, anyway? He needed to learn how to control the torrent of emotions within him, and the first step to doing that was to control his outward actions from them. Taking an especially large breath, he spread out his hands palms-up and let out gentle streams of fire, powerful but controlled, shoot into the air like candle flames. With each breath, the flames would diminish and then grow back again, until finally Zuko dropped his hands and let the flames fade out.

Yes, he had learned a lot since becoming Fire Lord. He had learned patience and endurance the hard way, and being the Fire Lord had served to strengthen the virtues he already had while introducing new ones to his list. It had also taught him much about things other than just military strategy; he'd learned more about diplomacy and talking peace than he'd ever desired, and he'd been slowly learning how to run a country peaceably, especially on the dawn of the re-merging of the kingdoms. He had, of course, kept up his physical training as well.

He glanced back at the punching bag, but its scarlet color didn't enrage him as much anymore. Everywhere he looked, he saw red; after all, it was the Fire Nation's archaic color, and it draped everything from clothing to tapestries to little fruit tarts. And while the color itself was fine, the things it symbolized to him were still too painful and raw in his heart for him to handle it well. He'd been learning, been trying to see it as the color of a new nation, but of course he couldn't forget the actions that had required the fresh start.

Fire was red-red and orange, yellow and blue and green. Oh, it was a multitude of colors; he'd seen the beauty in it when he had learned from the Masters. And while that had truly changed him and helped to heal his heart, he was still scarred from what had been before. He had always known fire as red. The fire that burned down innocent villagers' crops, the fire that demolished houses into charred ash, the fire that made the sky turn scarlet. The fire that he had seen sunk into innocents and soldiers alike, turning their flesh into bruised scars that would never heal, turning their skin blistering red. He had seen the fear in captured soldiers' faces as they faced the fire that ended their lives, just because they were fighting for the right side-against the corrupt Fire Nation.

He sighed deeply at the pain buried within his chest, pinching the bridge of his nose. How could he ever right all those wrongs that the Fire Nation had instilled in the hearts of so many? He was just one person; he could only do so much. But hadn't just two people caused all this heartbreak and devastation? His grandfather, his...father. Both had destroyed so many lives, both had ruined the chances for the fulfilled potential of so many. Now only broken families were left, widows and their fatherless children, weeping for the family members they had lost. Sisters were left without brothers, little ones were forced to face a life without their fathers, and everyone, everyone felt pain. He knew what it was like to be from a broken family; he just couldn't imagine the heartrending agony of having a full one, only to see it marred by the scythes of Fire.

His mind turned to Katara, and the mother she had lost to his people. He remembered her pain, agony, and fury at the loss of the one person who had meant so much to her, and her desire to avenge her mother's death. Yet when she had seen her tormentor and her mother's murderer, she had spared his life. Zuko had been ready to hurt him, another member of the same people, because what he had done had deserved it. But Katara? No, she had realized his emptiness and let him go. She had had mercy on someone who didn't deserve it...and that included him. He had done too many evil things himself, but when he had offered to help the water-bender, she had forgiven him. How could she do something so powerful, so free, so strong? He didn't think he'd ever understand. Right now, he didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive his father and sister for all the things they had done-not only to him and his mother, but to the whole world.

His thoughts flitted to Aang, and he remembered with a gut-wrenching gasp how the young Avatar's whole people had been wiped out. Except Aang, there were no air-benders left. He had to carry what was left of his good people's culture on his shoulders, along with being the Avatar, and Zuko had no clue how the 12 year old was able to do it. Clearly Zuko wasn't the only one with a burden to carry.

Suki's village popped in his mind, mothers and children screaming as fire knocked at their doors and entered their houses, burning them to ash. Fire Nation rhinos pouring in, searching the alleys and streets for the Avatar. The Keyoshi warriors, fighting with all their strength and cunning, only to be thwarted in their quest to save those innocents... Why had he been so obsessed with finding the Avatar, so needing of his father's praise and supposed love, that he should ruin the lives of so many? What would his mother have thought or said?

Sokka had lost a mother, too, and like Katara he had felt his father's absence cut into him keenly. He had had such a close, tight bond with his father...Zuko wondered what that was like. Whenever he thought of his father, all he saw was a monster that haunted his dreams with his sickening, deadly voice. He was a shadow Zuko had to stand in, for the rest of his life, and somehow try to outshine. He had to be the good influence that blotted some of his father's stain from the earth, but he knew that stain would never really go away. That stain was red.

The red of the fire that burst from his hands during the Comet, the red of the corruption in his eyes. The red of the blood that had seeped into the earth and that could never be washed clean of Zuko's family. That blood had stained the knowing stones of Ba-sing-se and Omashu, the snowy ice caps of both Water Tribes, and all the peaceful temples of the Air Nomads. That red shadow had reached into family's homes and snatched fathers and children from the hands of their beloveds, and it had brought them in the war to die on the battlefield. Red...

Zuko shook his head, trying to clear the images and sounds from his head before he got sick. He couldn't think, couldn't process right now. He felt the temptation, stronger this time, to return to the punching bag, but even though it wasn't bad in itself, he forced that addiction down his throat. He wasn't going to do it again. He knew the bag was too dangerous for him. He had too much rage, and if he spent too long punching something, he might move on to punching some_one_.

And the last thing he wanted to do was to act like his father.

"Zuko?"

Surprised, he turned around to see Katara leaning against the doorframe. He had a flashback to the first time he'd joined the group and brushed it away, smiling slightly at the much friendlier manner she had now. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, beautifully contrasting her sea-colored shirt and flowing skirt. He hadn't forgotten about their date, but time had flown by dramatically fast since he had come here to work out.

"Are you okay?" she added, her blue outfit emphasizing her concerned sapphire eyes.

He smiled wider at the sight of her. "Yeah, I'm alright now," he said, but she could still see the leftover shadow on his face.

She stepped into the room. "Are you sure?" she asked, glancing at his slightly bloody fists and sweaty attire. "You don't look so good."

He glanced down at the things she'd noticed, and his smile fell. He sighed. "Well...I wasn't okay earlier. I'm still a little frustrated, but I'll be okay."

She nodded, knowing this was Zuko's calm way of asking her to drop it and let him flow into some more happiness, rather than letting him remain depressed. She knew the weight he had to carry, and she was gentle about it; that's what he needed. "Alright," she replied. "But you know if you need me, I'm always here for you."

He nodded, orange eyes softening. "I know," he replied, grabbing the towel she handed him and mopping himself off before giving her a side-hug. She smiled at the hug, then laughed and ruffled his sweaty hair.

"What?" he laughed, knowing she probably didn't mean anything bad by the action, but still slightly wondering at the action.

"Your hair!" she giggled back. "Check it out in the mirror."

He walked over to the small mirror on the wall-he had taken care that the mirrors in the palace be small, since big mirrors reminded him of certain family members' egos-and was shocked by the sight he saw.

It wasn't his hair that bothered him, though he briefly noticed its wet, spiky new style. It was his eyes that instantly drew him in. For a second, he had thought they were Ozai's.

"What's wrong?" Katara immediately asked, seeing her boyfriend's face fall hard. She put her arm around his shoulder for support and gazed deep at the reflection of his eyes.

"I just...I thought I saw my father in my eyes," he quickly replied, watching Katara in the mirror to try to avoid looking at himself. He had to focus on something, anything, other than his father.

"Really?" Katara asked, cocking her head to the side. Zuko instantly noticed how cute it looked, despite his pain, but he said nothing about it. "I always thought your eyes were lighter than his. Yours are kind of this orange-yellow color. I know his were similar, but to me they always seemed more...red."

Zuko blinked at the familiar word.

He carefully replied, "Really?"

"Yeah," Katara said softly. "Your eyes remind me of the fire you bended during the Agni Kai." He didn't have to ask which one. "But your father's...your father's eyes reminded me of the fire he used to attack with, during the Comet."

Zuko shivered.

Katara's knowing eyes tried to search his in the glass, but he had looked away. Grabbing his shoulders and gently turning him to face her, she continued. "Zuko, your father's eyes always brought to mind destruction. But yours? I always thought they looked like new life."

He gazed deep into her eyes, shocked beyond words. Her ocean-blue eyes looked back, kind and gentle and loving. How had he ever deserved loving the owner of those eyes? He didn't deserve it. So how had he gotten so lucky?

He drew her into his arms in a hug, and rested his head in her shoulder, smelling the sweet scent of her hair. "Thank you, Katara," he whispered. "For everything."

_Fine!_

Zuko/Zutara Fanfic 3 3 3


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